One Dark Window (The Shepherd King, #1)

by Rachel Gillig

“He hunches, not animal, not man, but something between. He stands in the room he built for the Spirit of the Wood, perched upon a tall, dark stone.” Emory’s face twisted, his features contorted in fear. “He whispers something.” “What does he say?” I asked, my heart in my throat. Emory’s hand shook. When he spoke, his voice was strange—slippery. “There once was a girl,” he said, “clever and good, who tarried in shadow in the depths of the wood. There also was a King, a shepherd by his crook, who reigned over magic and wrote the old book. The two were together, so the two were the same…” He did not have to say the rest. I knew it by heart. “The girl, the King…” I breathed. The Nightmare’s voice burned through my mind. And the monster they became. Emory’s eyes shot open, all the color blanched out of his face. “Your eyes,” he gasped, tears streaming down his cheeks. “They’re yellow.”

There is no escape from the salt. Children followed me, their eyes wide with fear. We ran, chased through brambles, our clothes tangling on the low branches of untrimmed yew trees. The sky was black, the crescent moon masked by smoke. When we came to the stone chamber at the edge of the woods, I lifted the children through the window one by one. Someone was already waiting for me in the chamber, lit by the red light of his Scythe. Pain seared my every bone, and when I coughed, blood spattered across my long, pale fingers. I fell—enveloped by earth. The sharp scent of salt stung my eyes and nose until the world around me had utterly disappeared into cold, isolating darkness. I screamed, my fingers and toes growing blue with cold. I woke from the dream, shivering on the floor of the crumbling chamber. Morning light peeked through yew branches down through the rotted-out ceiling. I coughed a cry, the sensation of being trapped in darkness still swimming in my mind. I’d walked in my sleep again. What is this? I demanded, my face damp with old tears. Why are you doing this to me? The Nightmare echoed through my head, a specter on the wind—wordless, omniscient.

It’s not just a magical stone that hides Providence Cards, I realized, terror thick as mud as it crept across my heart. The chamber was at the edge of the cemetery. And the stone… the stone was a marker. A gravestone. I looked at my hands. Whose grave? I gasped, my breath coming in desperate, ragged gulps. Don’t you know? he whispered.

The Shepherd King is dead, I said once more. And you—you are a monster. That I am, he replied.

You have so little time, Elspeth. What the hell does that mean? But he was gone—retreated deep into my mind.

“What made you do it?” I asked Elm, winded as I climbed the stairs. “You’re a Destrier—a Prince, second in line for the crown. Why risk it at all?” “Emory’s dying. I do what I have to do to save him. That’s what family does.” “Aren’t the Rowans your family, too?” “Aren’t they yours?” he said, gesturing to the walls of Spindle House.

“You’re worried about Ravyn,” I said, already knowing the truth. “You think, because I have secrets, that I will betray him—betray all of you.” Elm did not deny it. Had I not been assured he carried only his Scythe, I might have thought there existed a Nightmare Card between us—a knowing, a reading of my mind. Just like in Ravyn, there lived a great intelligence behind the young Prince’s gaze, and though they shone Rowan green, they were just as seeing, just as comprehending. Only, Elm’s eyes were filled with distrust. “I would never betray you.” When the Nightmare’s laugh filled my mind like smoke, I flinched. “At least, not knowingly.”

All but for her hazel eyes, which, even before the Maiden Card, had shone with their own special light, as if lit from within. Only now they were clouded. Unfocused. Lost.

Elm leaned forward, quiet a moment too long, his green eyes measuring Ione. “Are you in love with him?” My cousin held his intrusive gaze, measuring him in return. “No.”

okay.. are we shipping Ione and Elm???!?!

“Do you care for Elspeth?” she asked. “Truly?” Ravyn’s fingers flexed along my hand. “From the moment I met her.” He paused. “The second moment, perhaps.”

It was Elm’s turn. “Trees, Ravyn, I don’t know.” He ran his hand over his brow. “Do you think I’m better looking than you?” The corner of Ravyn’s lip twitched. “Decidedly.”

lol :)

“Are you still pretending?” I said, reveling in his gaze. Ravyn gave a surprised laugh and, in front of everyone, leaned in and kissed me. “I never was,” he whispered into my lips.

TEHEHE this is so good.

It wasn’t until I’d coughed again that I realized it was blood. Like a fool, I’d tried to beat the Chalice. I’d tried to lie too much.

“What’s more alarming is why he wanted to use a Chalice in the first place,” Ravyn said. “Your brother suspects it was us in the wood that night. He has no proof, but he suspects.”

Ravyn’s voice lowered. “I used the Nightmare on her last night.” My muscles tensed. Elm was quiet a moment. “You used it to help her—to talk her through the game. Just as you did me.” “I told her at the start I wouldn’t use it on her. I gave her my word.” Elm snorted. “Last night was an extenuating circumstance, I’d say.” “I doubt she’ll see it that way.” “Why not?” Ravyn paused. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, doubtful. “I don’t know how to explain it,” he said. “It wasn’t like anyone’s head I’d ever been in before. I felt as if I’d been thrust beneath seawater. It was dark and shifting—a storm. When I spoke to her I could hear her voice, but it was far away.” He paused, the sound of his palms rough against his face. “I don’t know what happened, Elm. I must be losing my mind.”

“What is it?” I nodded to the Card in his hand. On its face, just below the burgundy velvet, a creature was drawn. A beast of darkness… A Nightmare. Ravyn blinked. “That,” he said, holding the Card out between us. “That thing is in your head?”

Who are you? Ravyn demanded, shouting into the blackness. The Nightmare was untouched by his distress. The shepherd of the shadow. The phantom of the fright. The demon in the daydream. The nightmare in the night.

Across from me, Ravyn’s face had turned to stone, terror visible only in his eyes. “I don’t understand,” he said. “How did he get in your mind?” “I touched my uncle’s Nightmare Card,” I said. I glanced at Elm. “It’s my ability—my magic. The moment a Providence Card touches my skin, I absorb whatever it was the Shepherd King paid to create it.” Elm choked on his words. “What do you mean, ‘paid’?” I gritted my teeth. “When the Shepherd King made the Deck, the Spirit required payment. So he bartered for each Card, paying in objects, animals—” Elm shook his head. “Not the whole bedtime story, Spindle, the essentials, if you please.” “Let her talk,” Ravyn growled. I swallowed, the words sticky in my throat. “When the Shepherd King made the Nightmare Card, he bartered a part of himself.” I closed my eyes. Ravyn’s voice was paper-thin. “His soul.” I nodded. “That is what I absorbed when I touched my uncle’s Nightmare Card.” Ravyn and Elm stared at me, their eyes wide, as if they had never truly seen me. “But if he bartered his soul,” Elm whispered, his eyes lowering to Ravyn’s Nightmare Card, “and you absorbed it, then the voice in your head…”

“He’s the Shepherd King.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Elspeth?” I twisted my neck and looked toward the window. “I know what I know,” I said, tapping my teeth together. “My secrets are deep. But long have I kept them, and long will they keep.”

“Has he ever hurt you?” The Nightmare hissed. Hurt her? I protect her. Then why are you growing stronger? Ravyn demanded.

When Rowan stole my life, my soul remained, sealed in the Nightmare Card. I waited hundreds of years, consumed by fury and salt. His voice clung to me, as if made of wax. Elspeth pulled me from the Card, the darkness. So I protected her from a world that would see her killed. I spoke to her from The Old Book. She was already good, clever. But I taught her to be wary. I gave her my gifts—my strength. But nothing comes for free, Ravyn Yew. Especially not magic.

Ravyn’s voice was hardly a whisper. What happens when you grow too strong for Elspeth’s mind? But the Nightmare’s only answer was the click of his teeth, everywhere at once.

“It was his castle—the one in ruins. The first Rowan King burned it down, murdered him and his family.” I looked up at Ravyn, my eyes damp with salty tears. “He’s buried beneath the stone in the chamber at Castle Yew.”

The Well Card.

“What of Ravyn Yew?” My back straightened. “What of him?” He winced, clearly uncomfortable. “The two of you seem to be enjoying your courtship.” Until he realized a King, five hundred years dead, occupied your mind, the Nightmare said. I tried to smile. “I like him very much.”

The Nightmare’s claws cradled my mind. “Be safe,” I whispered to the wind as Ravyn Yew disappeared beyond the gate. Had I known they’d be the last words I’d say to him aloud, I might have chosen them differently.

I turned, but he looked away, a strained smile on his colorless lips. “I’m fine,” he said. “Just cold.” Perhaps he was. It was always colder in this part of the house. Still, something about his expression gripped me, the lines of his face drawn—his skin ghostly pale, as if he’d been the one who’d ingested poison, not I.

He’s hiding something, the Nightmare murmured.

I looked over my shoulder to my uncle. “You used your Scythe on him?” Hauth smiled. “Care to answer that, Tyrn?” My uncle’s face said it all.

It’s not real, I said to myself, grinding my teeth together. My mind has been tested, fortified. The Scythe’s magic is merely a harsh rain—a storm to make me cower. And the Nightmare and I did not cower.

“To be fair, Tyrn tried not to give you up. But harboring an infected child is treason and a terrible, terrible death. All his hard work finding that Nightmare Card—negotiating a place on the royal court—gone. And for what?” His green eyes narrowed. “An infected niece forced upon him eleven years ago?” He shook his head. “Tyrn can keep his land, his title—his life. I’m not after his livelihood. But I needed his help. Or rather, yours.”

“Help with what?” I said. Hauth folded his arms across his chest. “Ravyn,” he said, his lips curling. “I want you to help me with Ravyn.”

The Nightmare coiled in the corner of my mind. I don’t know what will happen, Elspeth, he said. Your degeneration is almost at an end.

And pays those she snares with the great, final sleep. I watched the spindle tree from my seat on the floor. Its shadow grew long against the stonework, autumn light quick to fade as evening came on. They’ll be back from patrol any moment, I whispered to the dark. We’re almost out of time. Above me, Hauth and Orithe spoke in hushed voices. Every so often, Orithe looked my way, his unnaturally light eyes clouded. It had taken him only moments to confirm my magic, my blood all over the floor. After that, he and Hauth had left me alone. Huddled together, they discussed Ravyn and Jespyr and Elm, what their duplicity—their treason—might entail. For a time I was almost forgotten, my arms dripping blood where I’d torn myself free. Tears streamed down my cheeks, my teeth gritted against what I needed to do. It’s all ruined, I called into the darkness, my voice breaking. Even if Ravyn doesn’t admit to stealing Cards or being a highwayman, they know he hid my infection. No matter how you parcel it, he’s condemned. They’ll kill him. Ravyn need not die, the Nightmare said, his voice eerily smooth. Then, so quiet it might have been the wind whistling through the window, he said, Do you trust me, Elspeth? I blinked through the blur of tears. Do I have a choice? My darling, you’ve always had a choice.

“The King will not be pleased if I kill you before presenting you to him,” Orithe murmured. “So please, for both of our sakes, stay still.” I hissed, spitting blood onto his perfect white cloak.

The intrusion of a Nightmare Card. Elspeth? Ravyn’s voice called. Are you there?

Ravyn, I called, my voice tearing away from me, distant, heavy with resolve. Don’t come for me. Hauth and Orithe. They know what I am. They’re waiting for you. The control in Ravyn’s voice was gone, his words tight with worry. Where are you, Elspeth? They’ll see you hang, Yew, the Nightmare said. You cannot save her. You can still find the Twin Alders, Ravyn, I called into the dark.

Centuries of rage boiled in me, time marked by neither sun nor moon. Hatred poisoned my blood and I lost myself to the dark, my body twisting—bones snapping—claws scraping—eyes narrowing, until my body, monstrous, mirrored the hate in my heart. Animalistic, a creature of the dark—powerful, vengeful, and full of fury.

“They came in the night,” we said, “the black and red horde. They burned down my castle, put my kin to the sword. The usurper was crowned, though my blood had not dried. But he did not account for the turn of the tide. For nothing is safe, and nothing is free. Debt follows all men, no matter their plea. When the Shepherd returns, a new day shall ring. Death to the Rowans… “Long live the King.”

chills!

This is the end, isn’t it? I murmured, darkness creeping across my vision. I go now. And you—you remain. It was inevitable, the Nightmare said, his voice louder and louder. This is your degeneration, Elspeth Spindle. Nothing comes free. The air around me thinned. I blinked, trying to stave off the darkness, like a child fighting sleep. Promise me you’ll help Ravyn. Promise me you’ll save Emory. It’s time, dear one, he purred, lulling me to rest. Promise! He sighed. I promise to help the Yews in all their endeavors.

“I thought you were dead,” he whispered. “I’m not dead,” she said, her voice oddly even. “I’m just… waking up.”

Yellow, not black. Relief turned to dread in the pit of Ravyn’s stomach. Elspeth, he called into the blackness. Elspeth! But all was silence. Then, like a snake slithering out beneath rocks, the Shepherd King spoke. She’s quiet now, Ravyn Yew. Let her rest. What the hell have you done? Ravyn cried, probing deeper into the darkness. She set me free, he said, his voice filling Ravyn’s mind like smoke. I’m here to help you.

“I’ve killed the King’s Physician and maimed the heir to the throne,” she said. “I’m infected with magic.” She ran her teeth over her bottom lip, her mouth curling into a twisted grin. “I surrender myself to the Captain of the Destriers and await an inquest by the King.”

because the nightmare wants to get rid of the king - rowan king.

“He tells me you carry the infection,” the King continued. “That you can see Providence Cards.” The corner of her mouth twitched as she gave a stiff nod. “And that you have an offer for me, in exchange for your miserable life.” Another nod, accompanied by the sound of her teeth clicking as she opened and clamped her jaw. Click. Click. Click. “But you killed my Physician,” the King said, his voice dripping venom. “And my son—should he survive—will never be the same. You are an enemy of the vilest quality.” He leaned into the bars. “There is nothing you could offer that would bring me more satisfaction than watching you die a slow, horrible death.”

“But kill me, usurper, and you will never collect the Deck, never heal the infection. The mist will continue to spread. The Spirit of the Wood will consume Blunder and everyone in it. I may be gone, my body mortified by violence and time, but in a hundred years, it is you, Rowan, who will be forgotten. Your castle will be reduced to dust. Destrier bones will clack in the wind, strewn by children between windows to frighten crows. Your name will turn to rot, your Providence Cards lost. I have seen it all before, Rowan. And I smell it upon us now. The salt of magic in the air… the turn of the tide.”

“What is it you want?” the King whispered. Elspeth ran her fingers against the bars, dried blood caked under her fingernails. “Same as you,” she said, stalking the length of the cell. “I want to collect the Deck. But first, you must release Emory Yew to his parents.”

Ravyn tapped his Nightmare Card beneath his cloak, reaching out in the darkness for any hint of Elspeth. He needed to hear her voice—needed to know she was still there… But there was nothing. The Shepherd King had blocked him out entirely.

“The Twin Alders is hidden in a place with no time. A place of great sorrow and bloodshed and crime. Betwixt ancient trees, where the mist cuts bone-deep, the last Card remains, waiting, asleep. The wood knows no road—no path through the snare. Only I can find the Twin Alders… “For it was I who left it there.”